Darling Jasmine by Bertrice Small

before it ended was just plain silly. You will have to be quicker than that if we are to have a satisfactory relationship, my lord.”
    â€œAre you always like this?” he groused.
    â€œLike what?”
    â€œImpossible! Totally, utterly impossible!” he roared.
    â€œThere is no need to shout, my lord,” she told him. “I do not think it is particularly good for you. There is a little vein right there”—her finger reached out, and touched the side of his head—“that is throbbing fiercely. I must teach you a little trick one of my aunts taught me when I was a child that will help you to calm yourself. You sit perfectly still and clear your mind of all thoughts, then just breath deeply in and blow the breath out. It is excellent for calming one’s nerves. I used it myself on occasion.”
    He could feel the vein she touched beating a tattoo on the side of his head. There were but two ways to stop it and calm himself. He would either have to strangle her where she stood—and the thought at this very moment was deliciously tempting—or he would have to kiss her. He chose the latter.
    Sweeping her into his arms his mouth found hers in a hard kiss. He crushed her against him, feeling her bosom, certainly fuller than it had been several years back before she had borne her children, push against him. He expected her to struggle, to give some expression of outrage. Instead Jasmine’s lips softened against him, and she seemed to melt into his embrace, returning his harshness with a tender, sweet softness. He had meant to conquer her, but instead found himself the vanquished. He was astounded as he released his fierce hold on her, not just a little chagrined.
    She stood straight, looking up at him, although if the truth had been known Jasmine’s legs were as weak as a jelly. “ ’Twas either kiss or kill, was it not, my lord?” she taunted him wickedly.
    He nodded, and, unable to think of any clever retort, said, “There was a time when you called me Jemmie, madame, and not always my lord. Do you think we can regain that place again?”
    â€œYou will never tame me, nor I you, Jemmie,” she replied in answer. “ ’Twill be a terrible match, I fear.” But Jasmine was smiling.
    â€œAye,” he agreed, “it will, but there is no help for it. I am the king’s loyal man and must obey. Still, a man might have a worse wife than you will be, darling Jasmine. As you are so fond of reminding me, you are rich, beautiful, royal, and clever,” he gently teased.
    â€œI have always been a good wife,” she responded primly. “You will learn if you do not thwart me, I shall be loyal and bring no shame to your name, Jemmie Leslie.”
    â€œIn other words, if I give you your own way, we will have no difficulties,” he said, his eyes twinkling.
    â€œExactly!” Jasmine answered him brightly. “How fortunate I am to be marrying so perceptive a man.”

Chapter 5
    T he weather turned again, and the early-spring rains came. James Leslie and Jasmine Lindley kept mostly to the château, where they played cards and chess, and talked. Although they had been acquainted with each other, neither really knew the other. Skye had been correct in leaving them alone. When the children had been gone some ten days, the earl suggested that on the next day there was no rain they ride over the Archambault to visit Jasmine’s relations and see how the youngsters were getting on with their cousins.
    Jasmine flushed at the suggestion.
    â€œWhat is the matter?” he asked her.
    She laughed weakly. “I had almost forgotten about my children,” Jasmine admitted, embarrassed. “It has been so lovely here with you, Jemmie, that I have come close to forgetting my responsibilities.”
    â€œYou are the best of mothers,” he reassured her. “No one would fault you for enjoying your time away from the